


it comes and goes in waves (it always does)

by imkibalicious



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, References to Depression, an exclusive beca thing, highschool, idk but it's a beca thing, is this a fic??, references to suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imkibalicious/pseuds/imkibalicious
Summary: TW: depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughtsA short description of Beca Mitchell's mental state through her last year of highschool.akaThe depressive shit no one asked for but my depressed ass wrote it anyway.





	it comes and goes in waves (it always does)

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I made last night as a vent?
> 
> Also sort of an "I'm sorry" thing since I haven't posted here in so, so long.  
> I had really good ideas for "Until You Are Home" but my motivation just went down the drain, and I don't know if I'll ever go back to that... not anytime soon, at least.
> 
> I'll try to post small things, though.  
> Enjoy this one for now!

  
  
It starts off slowly. Quietly. She can barely feel it, but it hits her.  
  
  
The first wave.  
  
  
  
People at school are mean. Bullies, that's what they are. They're like lions, looking out for prey, always on the watch for... something. And that something just had to be Beca Mitchell. Tiny seventeen-year-old Beca Mitchell, dressed in nothing but black, carrying some heavy eye liner under her pale skin, and as usual, her headphones carefully placed over her ears, drowning out any and every sound from this hell hole that they call school.  
  
  
But it doesn't matter. She can't hear them, but she can see them. They're all staring at her as she makes her way to her locker, minding her own business. And when she walks by them, she doesn't see them anymore, but she can _feel_ them there, forming a crack in the back of her head with cheap insults and dirty words.  
  
  
Insults and words that, on a normal day, Beca wouldn't give a shit about. Today though, she feels extra... 'sensitive', for lack of better word. She's had enough of them. She's had enough of _this_ ; the school, the people whispering about her in the hallways just because she looks different. Just because she doesn't have her group of friends. Just because she's constantly shutting the world out with her loud music and headphones that are a little too big for her ears.  
  
  
And she's knows she's just had enough of being the outcast.  
  
  
  
That's the first wave.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The second wave happens when she's at 'home'.  
  
  
Which isn't really home for her. Home, and as the dictionary describes it, is "a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.", which, fair enough, she does have most of these. A house? Yes, and a _great_ one. And she does live with more people here, but-- family? No.  
  
  
These people aren't her family. Sure, they feed her and give her shelter and an education, but that would just be the last straw if they didn't, since it's sort of their obligation - seeing as Beca _is_ still a minor, they still have to provide for her.  
  
  
But family isn't _just_ that.  
  
  
Family means looking out for each other. It means love and care. It means safety and tight bonds. And growing up, Beca had none of that. Her parents were always too busy fighting over things that she couldn't even understand herself. They were too busy to notice her necessities, her 'calls for help', if you will.  
  
  
Glancing at Beca for the first time, you wouldn't deem her as someone who needs love, and all that affectionate and sappy crap. She doesn't like to admit it to herself, that she _needs_ those, but the truth is, she really does. Just-- no one has ever really bothered with her. And the few people that did? She pushed away, seeing as she never really learned how to deal with stronger emotions towards other people.  
  
  
Guess growing up alone does that to you.  
  
  
  
So, the second wave comes when she's in her room. Studying. As always, she has her headphones hanging from her neck, whispering quiet lyrics to her as she goes over her History notes. And those whispered lyrics aren't enough to drown out the voices of her parents. They're screaming at each other, yelling, shouting.  
  
  
On a normal day, Beca would ignore them and go back to whatever she was doing. Today though, she can't do that. She hears something break downstairs, and something breaks inside her too. A tear starts making its way out of her eye; rolls down her pale cheek and drops onto her notebook, smudging the area where it landed with blue ink.  
  
  
And Beca _never_ cries.  
  
  
  
That's how she knows she just got hit with the second wave.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
After that, they just keep coming.  
  
  
  
The third wave happens after PE class, in the locker rooms. Beca is, as usual, minding her own business in one of the shower stalls when she hears whispers and giggles coming from the other side of the room. And when she turns around, they're staring at her, judging her for whatever reason.  
  
  
When she turns back around, she cries quietly to herself but they don't notice it - the water cascading from the shower head masking the tears coming out of her eyes.  
  
  
*  
  
  
The fourth time it happens, she's alone in her room again. She's not studying, she's not listening to music, she's not working on her mixes, she's just-- breathing. Barely breathing, but she's hanging in there.  
  
  
With her back pressed against her bedroom door and her knees hugged tightly against her chest, Beca burries her face into her knees, hiding from the world out there. A world where her parents won't stop arguing, a world where everyone at school judges her, a world where nobody cares about her.  
  
  
But the world inside her head is just as awful. She doesn't know when it started, but the little whispers from a few nights ago have grown to full-on shouting at her. Terrible things, coming from each and every corner of her brain. Telling her she's a waste, that she's good for nothing. Telling her that if she really feels likes a burden, that she should just do everyone a favour.  
  
  
And she almost does, but it's not enough. The scissors resting on her desk do nothing to take her away from this world, but they do calm the voices a bit. And that's how she starts dealing with the pain.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
After the fifth wave, she stops counting.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The days go by painfully slowly now. It's like the pointers in every clock aren't even moving anymore. It's almost like the world stopped spinning for her, and everyday is a constant headache.  
  
  
When people talk about her at school, she starts fights with them. They usually end up with Beca on the ground; cuts on her knuckles and blood running down her nose.  
  
  
When her parents start fighting at home, she doesn't keep quiet anymore. She storms out of her room and runs to them. And she yells too, saying how much she hates them and how she wishes she had never been born. And after that's out of the way, she runs up to the front door and shuts it behind her after leaving the house, escaping to wherever her feet take her.  
  
  
When a mix starts getting too complicated, she doesn't try harder. She slams the lid of her laptop shut and burries her fingers in her hair, scrapping at her scalp as she yells into the air, into the nothingness of her bedroom. She sort of just gives up.  
  
  
And that's sort of how she knows. She starts noticing these things. The fact that she's starting to give up.  
  
  
At first, it becomes too hard to leave the bed in the morning to go to school. And whenever her parents start fighting, she just wishes they were all gone, _dead_ \- if not them, then her. She even stops taking care of herself - she doesn't eat as much anymore, she can't remember the last time she showered or brushed her teeth; what used to be a daily and normal thing to her, is alien now.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
And when the next wave hits her again?  
  
  
  
She doesn't care.  
  
  
  
She lets it drown her.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a new Tumblr, exclusive for Pitch Perfect stuff?  
> Come scream at me!
> 
> suck-my-pitch.tumblr.com


End file.
